The Demon of my Eye
by NickeltheRed
Summary: The past always comes back to haunt you, no matter how much you deny it. Ginny may act as if she's healed from her memories of Tom, but something stirs in the darkest part of her soul.


"If I say it myself, Harry, I've always been able to charm the people I needed. So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted….I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of her deepest fears, her dark secrets. I grew powerful, far more powerful than little Miss Weasley. Powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasly a few of_ my_ secrets, to start pouring a little of _my _soul back into _her…._" (Rowling, Chamber of Secrets 310).

* * *

><p>The cliffs were always a good place to think. Ginny had always hoped that the concerns of daily life would not disturb her there. There, at her spot on the rocky ledge, she believed she didn't have to think about the Ministry slowly collapsing, or dwell on the number of Muggle attacks which continued to add up at exceeding rates month by month. Or she didn't even have to worry about Harry since they'd parted ways, readying themselves for the war that was approaching.<p>

But lately she was going through one of those phases again. Those phases where sleep could almost be considered futile. Whenever her stress level would heighten, the strands of nightmares would also occur more frequently. It meant she would jolt awake in cold sweats night by night.

Her gaze was fixed on the misty grey horizon ahead, lined with golden rays. Small groups of black waves took turns crashing into the foot of the gagged wall, and then gathered up again to roll steadily back out the main waters.

Her mind may have had its way to rid of the modern troubles which the Magical Community continuously buzzed about, for an hour or two. Except during these phases, it only left room for other certain things to slide across her train of thought. Exclusive flashes. Unwanted memories.

"_Ginevra…." _

She ignored the mere whisper of her name, flowing out from the distances of her mind. Like a chilly autumn's breeze. Like a thin layer of ice gracefully spreading upon the river's top, dancing to a captivating dark melody.

"_Your soul is in agony, Ginevra. Is that what you want?"_

"I don't know what I want," she replied bluntly with a huff. Then instantly Ginny sealed her lips, realizing what she had just done. Damn, she gave in. She answered the bodiless voice, that had to be merely an aspect of reminiscence.

"_You know I can help," _the voice chimed gently.

Her clenched jaw could not stop the short bitter laugh that gurgled from her throat, "You've done enough damage."

"_Though, no one understands you better than I do. I know your secrets…have you forgotten this?"_

"Harry knows me."

"_Does he? Did you ever tell him all what you shared with me?"_

She ran a vexed hand through her vibrant red strands, cursing, "Sod off."

The alluring, cruel voice pressed on. _"Do they know? Do they know after years of being reassured, you still suffer in silence? Do they know nightmares of what happened your first year still taunt you? How the memories still plague your deepest thoughts?"_

She sighed, she waited. She started to sing to herself in hopes of anything to drown out the voice.

"_Do they all know…your precious Boy-That-Should-Have-Died…your deprived father, your naïve mother, your poor excuses for brothers…," _he began, this time with more edge lacing itself within the usual charming tone, _"…of your longing…for power? To once again possess power like mine to course through you? To accomplish things beyond your imagination…beyond your own level of magic?"_

"You know nothing," she defended hastily. Her eyes narrowed at the sky that stretched overhead, as if someone really was standing before her at whom she could glare.

"_Don't I? I know you still rely on my memory. When you feel alone on the sidelines, in the dark…I am all you have…."_

She shook her head violently, balling her fists, her nails dug into her palms. "No! You're not even re—"

"Ginevra." his voice was suddenly firm, now close, and all too authentic. She wasn't truly alone any longer.

Gasping, Ginny spun around counterclockwise—and there he stood—solid, in flesh, bone, and blood. Unchanged, unaffected by time, just as she recalled. Tall, charismatic, with his sharp features, nightshade hair, and those dark eyes of his that were so cunning.

"We are almost the same age it seems. How interesting. What are you now? You must be reaching fifteen, sixteen?"

"But Tom, how can you be here?" she cried. "Harry destroyed you!"

"Oh no, my dear lioness, he destroyed the memories the diary held, the memories of others had of me, that is all." He made a lazy hand gesture her way, "You on the other hand, still believed I existed in some form all this time later. So I did, because of _that_ belief. Because of your belief that I would return for you."

Tears blurred her vision as white hot anger shot through her system. "You can't be real!"

"I am, because that is how you perceive _your own_ memory of me. My memory is very real to you." His wicked, incredible glower practically seeped through her skin, "Sometimes Ginevra, our subconscious makes magic of its own."

"I hate you," she spat, her pitch high and rigid.

"But you _loved_ me once," he countered, the corner of his mouth lifted into a light, crooked sneer.

"That was when I needed you as a friend, Tom!"

"And yet, you need me even now."

He stepped towards her, halting only inches away. He must have had a reason for doing so, and Ginny caught onto the motive rather quickly. He wanted her to see what he had to offer.

It was there, tempting her, right in his eyes. They scared her still, although now in an entirely new way. They did not tell the same story; _to disobey me, will cost you your life._

Now, they told her something different: _follow me, and I'll give you the world._

She turned her cheek to him, glancing back at the setting sun, "No, I can't. You're too evil…" and as if on impulse, she said a name that just about poisoned her tongue, "…Voldemort."

Tom shook his head, "_He_ does not exist in your memory…at least not yet. For now, I am only the Tom you knew long ago."

"You lie," she said, "I'm not falling for your tricks or your false affections anymore." Her voice was low, cynical.

"Why, Little Lioness...there has to be a reason why you clung to my memory for all these years. I am here now offering you what others can never grant you. Potter cannot even do such a thing. He has become too righteous to go discover the deepest secrets magic has to present. _I_, however, have the power to grant your darkest desires. You know this…don't you?"

Her eyes shifted to meet his again, staring at him in wonder.

"Ginevra, I can help you escape this petty lifestyle you are trapped in, and then _live for me_." He cocked his head, "Isn't it better to live facing your fears, then to hide behind a façade, paranoid, waiting for them to find you?"

"You tried to steal my life that time. You'll do it again, won't you?"

He granted her a playful smile, "Albeit, I will give you a better one in return."

She drew up her chin, teeth gritted, "Or I'll just will you away right now."

"You may do so. But I will keep coming to you when your defenses are down, and I'll mockingly whisper in your ear, asking why are you not happy….Remember, you poured out your soul to me, and I, mine to you. We are ever intertwined."

For one last time she looks to the horizon as if to memorize it, thinking. Mental images of loved ones, favorite professors and magical idols swam through all the confusion built up already inside her consciousness. What was it worth?

She echoed uncertainly, "A better life…."

"All I need is a sacrifice, Ginevra, and I'll help you carry out your new life to the fullest, the greatest of powers shall not cut you short. One soul is all I need."

"Not Harry's," she said strongly and meaningfully.

"No, not Harry's," he strangely agreed. With one swish of his hand, a beautiful ripe, shimmering red apple rolled into the flat of his palm. "Your soul is _exactly_ what I need."

Her gaze widened at the sight of his lips spreading into the cockiest of grins, a familiar gleam is his eye, "Hungry?"

* * *

><p>Molly hummed an old-folk tune as she sat at the counter, mixing her herbal tea. It was another difficult day for the Order members. Since the death of their beloved Dumbledore, it was harder to keeps things in check. More citizens were beginning to revolt, driven mad with paranoia. The school by now was controlled by Death Eaters.<p>

Also, Harry, Hermione, and her son had not sent word as much as they promised. Adding to all her worries, her daughter returned earlier that evening in somewhat of a daze. She said she got a headache from all the cold air. Molly suggested to Ginny then to not wander alone during dangerous times such as these.

But oddly enough, Ginny simply replied, "I'm never alone, Mumma."

Mrs. Wesley pushed her weight from the stool, climbing to the Burrow's third floor.

Once at her daughter's door, she carefully cracked it open to observe Ginny sleeping quite peacefully, unlike the prior nights. She slept on her side, completely covered, save for her limp right arm, which hung off the mattress.

Molly raised an eyebrow—resting in Ginny's exposed hand laid an apple core.


End file.
